A Link to Grandpa Salte

Here are some general facts I know about my Grandpa, Norman Salte:

1. He was a wonderful husband.

2. He was a wonderful father.

3. He was a wonderful pastor.

4. He was a wonderful son, brother, and friend.

And now I can add another general fact:

5. He loved his '54 Buick and liked to go fast.

My grandpa was killed in a car accident (unrelated to his need for speed) some decades ago, back when my mom and uncles were children, and when my aunt was miraculously protected inside Grandma's womb. A farming truck, which ignorantly sped off a side road to cross the main highway, T-boned their vehicle, sending the whole family (and two other passengers) into a chaotic roll. There were no seatbelts in the car, so Grandpa was tossed from the vehicle and ended up underneath it when the rolling stopped. My mom says she can still remember hearing him moan under the upside-down car, and she can still hear her little-girl voice crying, "God, don't let my daddy die!" Yet although everyone else walked away with only a few scratches, Grandpa Norman passed away that day.

I consider the Saltes an incredible family. Grandma, thrust into the role of a single parent, raised her four children as best she could, and her faith in God was refined to the purest gold. Anyone who knows her today knows that she absolutely radiates joy and peace because of her intense relationship with God. Her kids have all grown up to be successful, loving people, and her grandchildren (myself included) have a strong sense of home, comfort, loyalty, and happiness toward our extended family. We all get together once a year on average, even though we live in different places, and as the in-laws and fourth generation are brought in, they become a very valuable part of the Salte tapestry as well. It's a beautiful thing...but there has always been a part of me that wonders how it would have been if Grandpa were an everyday part of this as well.

On that note, Bryan and I had the privilege of attending church at Carrot River Valley Lutheran this past Sunday when we were "camping" in the Melfort area. (Camping turned into Travelodging due to extremely windy, rainy weather.) Anyway, on Sunday morning we drove to the church that's based out of Fairy Glen, where Grandpa had served as pastor for a number of years. Part of the pull was, for me, to see the wooden cross at the front of the church, which Grandma had talked about many times. It had been made by a local carpenter at Grandma's request, for the purpose of serving to honour Grandpa's memory. I also wanted to see bits and pieces of one of my mom's childhood homes, and to meet some other people who'd known Grandpa, as I'm always curious to learn more about him.

During communion, shortly after the sharing of the peace, I name-dropped grandma and grandpa to an elderly couple sitting nearby who'd whispered a greeting and asked where we were from. Right away their faces both lit up, and by the time communion was done, a few people around us had found out who we were, and immediately we could see that they were as excited to make a connection as we were! When the service was over, we visited with several people, and that's when I learned, from a few different men at different times throughout the visiting, that Grandpa was partly remembered for his heavy pedal foot and his beloved '54 Buick. I also learned that Grandpa used to claim that he could milk twelve cows in an hour. Of course, I know nothing about how possible that is, but none of the people who'd heard that tale seemed to think it was anything but a slight stretch of the truth. I also had someone tell me that I had the long legs of Grandpa Salte, and another person said, "You know, I recognized your face, and when I found out that you are Helen's granddaughter, I can see why!"

Something inside me was swelling with pride when I heard people talk about Grandpa, and when I saw the looks of fondness and remembrance that swept across their faces. He was obviously loved and loving, and had left a lasting impression on those who knew him.

Another profound moment for me was standing next to the cross that had been made to honour his memory. The current pastor was kind enough (and, in fact, extremely excited) to let me take some pictures there. For some reason, standing next to the cross and touching it made me feel a connection with this mysterious relative with whom I've always been fascinated. I've always wished I could've known Grandpa.

Bryan and I stayed for the potluck, and were treated like honoured guests. Many people wanted to talk with us to learn about how Grandma and her kids were doing these days, to share stories of the past, and to let us know how blessed they were that we'd come to visit. The current pastor explained that he and the congregation were very encouraged to see that future generations still held an interest in churches from their family's histories. I suppose it showed a lot of the people there that they had, indirectly, blessed future generations by their influence in the lives of my grandparents and their children. Bryan and I had gone there expecting to gain some insights and be encouraged ourselves...we hadn't anticipated how much joy it would bring to the people we'd meet!

It was a very rich time -- from seeing the cross, to learning more about Grandpa, to meeting some wonderful people and knowing that we had encouraged them just by the curiosity that had led us to Carrot River Valley Lutheran Church -- and as we drove away, I was so thankful. It felt like something had come full circle, in a small but profound way. I also had a bit of a clearer picture of who my grandpa had been...a man after God's heart, a loving husband and father, but also just a guy who liked his toy and liked to push the limits, both on the highway and, perhaps, in the telling of his abilities. It makes me even more excited to meet him in heaven someday!

Seriously...enough!

When I look back on my wedding day, two reactions hit me at the same time: overwhelming joy and overwhelming...overwhelmth. That apparently isn't a real word, but I like how it sounds, so I'm keeping it in there.

I was determined not to be a bridezilla. I prided myself on how patient and joyous I was being as the months (all five of them) ticked by, keeping me busy with preparation but heavily blessed with help from Bryan and many friends and family members. Everything was going off without a hitch (as the hitch wouldn't be happening until the actual wedding day).

On January 3, I stood in my gown, surrounded by my beautiful bridesmaids and soon-to-be sisters-in-law. A clear blue sky and crisp white snow lay outside the window of the Sunday School room where we'd been getting ready. Soon, the music started up and, one-by-one, everyone but me filed out of the room and into the hushed sanctuary. When my turn arrived, I could hardly wait to poke my head around the corner of the sanctuary's double doors and see my groom smiling at me! When our eyes met for the first time, I was taken aback by the pure joy I saw on his face. I smiled back at him, fighting a lump in the back of my throat. This is it! I thought to myself.

Rewind about twenty-four hours. I was not wearing my beautiful white dress. I was wearing faded old blue jeans, my blood pressure was through the roof, and I was throwing a garbage bag full of pew decorations with angry tears streaming down my face. I ran into a hidden corner of the church and cried...it was the day before my wedding, and the weather forecast had been correct. Outside was raging the biggest blizzard Frontier had seen in over a decade, and Bryan's family and our rehearsal guests were on the road. It was uncertain when, or if, they would arrive. Certainly not on time to have our rehearsal supper at the planned time!

Rewind about twenty-four hours from there. Bryan and I were driving down to Frontier from Saskatoon, and even then the weather was so bad we barely made it down. I thought I was going to get an ulcer.

Rewind about forty-eight hours from there. The groom and groomsmen vests arrive at Moore's just in time for the wedding, and Bryan discovers that his vest is way too small. And we have two more days to order one in from Toronto. And they mixed up all the groomsmen vest sizes, so we didn't know if they would even fit the guys. We would just have to hope for the best when we got to Frontier for those ones...thankfully, however, Moore's got in the right-sized vest for Bryan the day we drove down to Frontier. That was one time the steam coming out of my ears was halted momentarily.

Rewind about forty-eight hours from that point. On one of my last days of work, when I had just finished doing orientation with a new employee who was going to make my weeks off SO much easier on my team in my absence, this new employee calls me at home in the evening to quit due to health issues. I was very understanding and calm on the phone, but when I hung up, I cried great, heaving sobs. I thought I'd have to re-do about two weeks of work and preparation in only one day now, when I was already so stressed because of the weather forecast on my wedding date, and emotional over some people who'd called to say they wouldn't be able to come to our wedding anymore. However, when I called my coordinator, she made it very clear that she would take care of it and I should just focus on my wedding. Still, I somehow felt guilty that she'd have so much quick juggling to do, and I wouldn't be able to do much to help.

Rewind about a week before that. Our car was going in for its second major repair within a month...and this stupid thing was supposed to take us down to San Francisco for our honeymoon! (Thankfully Jannaya had offered to let us take her car if ours wasn't fixed. That was VERY generous.) We got our fixed-up car and attended Nick and Aubree's wedding. It was a beautiful ceremony...then Bryan and I went to a walk-in clinic to see about these funny red spots that had been slowly spreading all over my neck, arms, legs, and torso.

The doctor told me I had ringworm.

I mean, seriously...who gets ringworm all over her body a week before her wedding? Seriously? Who does that? I started to panic that I'd be too contagious for Bryan to even touch me...what kind of honeymoon would that be?

The doctor was very businesslike as he told me it would probably go away in a couple of weeks. Then my face crumpled and tears sprang from my eyes and I nearly wailed, "But I'm getting married next weekend!" Immediately, he donned an encouraging smile and his eyes became very kind as he said, "Or -- or maybe only a few days." He then proceeded to ask me questions about my wedding, no doubt to try and get my mind off of this crappy news. Bless his heart for trying.

So yeah...up until the week or two before my wedding, I avoided being bridezilla. Then I tried to keep all my anger inside as these stresses suddenly mounted within such a short period of time. I thought bridezilla was fairly contained...even the throwing of the pew decorations was fairly tame, I figured, when factoring in the growing swarm of killer bees inside my whole body. I seriously felt like I was going to explode.

Back to the day before my wedding...we had just finished decorating the church. It looked SO beautiful...the sanctuary for the ceremony, and the basement for the reception. But as Bryan and I stood in the middle of it all, quietly taking in all the hard work that we and others had put in to make it so special, I had an empty feeling in the pit of my stomach. Sure, we would get married tomorrow, and I knew that was the most important part of the day. But it was hard to swallow the idea that I might have to lose the dream of sharing that day with a room full of family and friends. Outside, the wind was still howling and the visibility was still poor. And it was growing dark.

We headed back to my house. None of our rehearsal guests had arrived in Frontier yet. We'd been taking phone calls all day from people so we could know they were safe. Then the phone rang again, and it was all of our musicians, plus most of Bryan's groomsmen, calling to tell us they'd been storm-stayed in Shaunavon. It was a good move to stay there and be safe, of course. But I felt something snap inside of me when I hung up the phone. Bryan stood there with a question in his eyes, so I relayed the message to him; half of our rehearsal guests wouldn't be coming today. Tomorrow we'd have to wing it. Tonight, he wouldn't have any of his groomsmen to celebrate his last night of bachelorhood with.

"Well, it's going to be okay, because--" Bryan started.

"IT'S NOT GOING TO BE OKAY!" I shouted at him, surprising even myself. I had never yelled at Bryan, or any other person, in my whole adult life.

The look on his face...the shock, the anger, the hurt, the embarrassment (my whole family was around)...was all the punishment I needed. Right away I tried to backpedal, but it would be an hour or so before we could talk to each other normally. I apologized profusely. We drove to the church for our happy little wedding rehearsal, and the car was thick with tension. I mean, seriously...who yells at her fiance right before their wedding rehearsal? It was supposed to be a happy, carefree, lovey-dovey time! Thankfully, Bryan found it in himself to forgive me quite quickly. He said, "I didn't want to stand up on our wedding day and say our vows to each other while I still felt angry, so it's forgiven." And he was sincere. He even said it with a happy smile and a sparkle in his eye, like he truly didn't have a care in the world.

And on January 3, after I'd made my walk up the aisle and Bryan and I were standing in front of the full church together, we sang songs to God about how great He is and how faithful He is...and I had so much apologizing to do to Him for how I'd railed against His judgment for allowing all of these stresses to happen before our wedding. And yet, each stress had been taken care of. Even the weather had cooperated on our big day. None of our guests had hit the ditch on their way here, which was a miracle in and of itself! As I stood there praising God, I felt sheepish for my recent past...yet God impressed upon my heart how much joy He was taking in this moment, and how I should be soaking it in, too, without guilt. He knew my heart was repentant and worshipful, and that it was time to rejoice! What a loving Father!

Oh yeah, and it ended up not being ringworm. A few weeks after our honeymoon, I found out that it was this weird, rare rash that comes and goes on its own, and doesn't spread to other people. I guess I'd already figured out that it doesn't spread, cause Bryan never got it...

Necklace

I'm really excited about this post! I've been taking a Bible study course, along with many women from Rock of Ages church, and it's been getting me to read Scripture a lot more than I do on a regular basis. Already, I've been very blessed by the ways God has spoken to me through verses that almost felt dry, I had them so memorized. It's amazing how He can make anything new, even tired old words that our minds automatically file away as "old news."

Anyway, tonight He made me a necklace. I was thinking back on how afraid I used to be...how my Christian walk, and as a result my whole life, was based on fear until I went to CLBI, because I was under a constant cloud of condemnation. Satan knew that my belief in God wouldn't be shaken, so He lied to me about God's love instead, making me believe with ALL of my heart that God would just as soon strike me with a lightning bolt as let me live. I felt shaky, uncertain, and even so afraid of hell that I couldn't sleep at nights. And then God, through a series of events, broke through my wall of fear until it crumbled away completely one night at a CLBI worship event. I haven't been the same since...my life is no longer defined by fear, and I sense God's love for me every day, everywhere I go. It's a blessing I never even dreamed of experiencing!

So after going through the Bible study questions tonight, I journaled a couple of verses that had stood out to me, and suddenly my head exploded with verse after verse in chronological order of my walk with Christ up until now, and I couldn't write fast enough! I'm not a super Christian who had them memorized word-for-word, but I had enough of a gist of them that I strung them together and it made me think of a special necklace from God for me. (What can I say...I'm a girl, I love jewelry!)

Here are the verses in my necklace!

1 John 4:16-19: "And so we know and rely" (interruption here...isn't "rely" a neat word in this phrase?) "on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him. In this way, love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment," (another interruption here...wow! Confidence on the day of judgment! That's huge!) "because in this world we are like him. There is no fear in love. But perfect love casts out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. We love because God first loved us."

This one applies because I SO lived in fear before...and God's perfect love cast it out, once and for all!

Romans 8: 15-16: "For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, 'Abba, Father.' The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God's children."

Again, fear is not designed to be part of a real relationship with God...and now, although emotional moments can sometimes throw off my compass, underneath it all I have full confidence of the Spirit testifying with mine that I am God's beloved child!

Ezekiel 36:26: "I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh."

When I think "heart of stone", I generally think of one that is hardened from bitterness and anger. But my heart was definitely a stone before God, as well. It was scared stiff. God alone (I can't take any credit for it) removed that old way of existing from me, and gave me a new way that continues to amaze me, even years after the real change happened! And now I am growing, like flesh, as opposed to the immobility and stagnancy of having a heart of stone.

Isaiah 41: 18: "I will make rivers flow on barren heights, and springs within the valleys. I will turn the desert into pools of water, and the parched ground into springs."

Once God had given me a heart of flesh, free from fear, the outpouring of His love and presence and joy into my life was unbelievable! This verse is the best metaphor I've ever found for how God took my empty, fearful soul and turned it into something crazily blessed by the love it had longed for all its life!

And finally, Philippians 1:6: "...being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus."

That one's fairly self-explanatory and, thankfully, it applies to every single person who lives in relationship with Christ... no matter where you're at, how confident you are of His love for you, or how fearfully you may still be living, He is NOT finished with you...not by a long shot! And He never will be. Even after we leave this earth, we have all of eternity to live in worship and grow closer and closer to Jesus! No matter what happens in life, that is a beautiful and certain hope that we can fall back onto, like the biggest and best bean bag chair ever. God is good!

Allow me to get sappy for a few minutes. Actually, this is MY blog! I can write whatever I want, and there's something about being stranded in a blizzard that makes me not care if people want to gag at my words.

So this weekend, Bryan and I headed down to Moose Jaw. We had booked a night at the spa for our first anniversary celebration (belated by a few weeks). Even though the weather forecast called for bad roads and a potential winter storm, we were stubborn and determined. We are the kind of people who can't handle the thought that our plans will have to change, especially in regards to something we are looking forward to. So we set out on Saturday morning and battled an inconvenient, but not impossible, path down to Moose Jaw. We had a wonderful time, and it was just nice to have a change of scenery for a little bit.

Then we woke up on Sunday morning and could barely see outside for all the snow blowing angrily around outside. We soon learned that all roads outside of Moose Jaw are closed, and that the snow is expected to keep coming all day long. We checked out of our hotel, plowed our way to a gas station to gas up and pump up our leaky tire (managing to get stuck twice), then ended up at McDonald's. If it weren't for this laptop, some newspapers, and word/number puzzle papers, we'd be going stir-crazy right now. We're pretty much just waiting to see if we can drive to Saskatoon later today, or if we should check into a motel tonight.

Anyway, the reason I prefaced this blog with a "sappy" warning is because this is one of those times where I look at Bryan and realize how blessed I am to have him in my life. He's pretty good at rolling with the punches...something I struggle with from time to time. I'm sitting across from him at our booth, typing this blog secretly, and he's looking down at one of the newspapers. I just want to squeeze him. It sounds cliche, but I can honestly say that no matter where I am, if Bryan's there with me, I feel happy. Sure, there's an underlying stress about when we'll be able to get home, but I'm content overall and I know that things will work out.

Something we've learned from these past two Januaries is this: whenever we have to drive anywhere to do something romantic (like, say, get married or go on a special trip), there will be a blizzard. Sorry, people of Saskatchewan! This weather is probably our fault!

The Coffee House

I recently received an email from Wendy, notifying me that the Coffee House in Frontier has been sold.

My instant reaction was a flooding of fond memories, followed by a sinking feeling that it was the end of an era. The Coffee House's sale, and imminent conversion into a rental property, got me to thinking of all the uniqueness that will have to be undone. First of all, the makeshift skateboard park on the cracked concrete driveway will have to go. Second of all, the restaurant-style booths in the living room, and the concession counter in the kitchen, will most likely have to be removed. And I'm sure there are countless dents in the walls, broken cupboard doors, and food stains everywhere that will have to be dealt with. After all, almost every teenager within a sixty-mile radius probably graced the place with their presence at least once, and most of them left a mark in one way or another.

The very first "Coffee House" was actually a one-time event in the church basement. Emily had a vision for a place where the youth of Frontier and area could hang out, without the formal Christian programming of a youth group, so that people who weren't comfortable with Bible studies wouldn't feel awkward about coming. It would be come-and-go, just a place with games and food and non-alcoholic drinks and music...an alternative to Friday night parties, and perhaps a place where a few seeds could be scattered by forming new friendships or talking with one of the adult supervisors. This one-time event went over very well, with a great turn-out. I remember it, but unfortunately a little vaguely -- my stomach was upset from drinking too much pop and having too much candy, so I ended up sitting at a table for awhile, trying to wait out the nausea! I guess that shows I'd had a great time up until then, anyway.

The exact timeline of the following events is unclear to me, but I know that the church's prayers were behind this vision...which is no surprise, as I was blessed to grow up in a church that celebrates all age groups, including the teenagers who sometimes giggled too loudly in the back of the church, and who played rock-style worship sets on the occasional Sunday morning, and who put on skits for the church that involved loud belching into a microphone. Anyway, at some point, Don and Donna Hernberg purchased some land beside their home, and this land contained a small old red-and-white house that had previously been occupied by a very sweet elderly woman who had to move into a long-term care facility. The home was donated (am I right, Wendy?) to the Bethel Church youth group, and that's where a lot of fun began!

I learned a lot about stripping paint from the outside of a house, and painting both the inside and outside of a house. The youth, and many adults, rolled up their sleeves and turned the little old house into a vibrant, brightly-coloured, multi-purpose recreation facility complete with video game systems, a pool table, fuseball, a candy and pop concession (which also included some fancy coffee drinks, Italian sodas, and homemade treats from time to time), and a VCR and TV area upstairs (only PG movies approved). There were tons of board games, card games, a lovely mishmash of sofas and chairs, and a bunch of cd's (who can forget the W's? "You are the devil, and the devil is bad...") for the stereo system. I think almost everything was donated by people in the church and community, although we also received pop cans from Honey Bee, which we would sort and recycle, using the money to keep things running smoothly. Oh yeah, and when I said brightly-coloured, I meant it. The ceilings were yellow-and-red-checkered. The walls were purple, with a large VW bug painted on one wall by Megan and Johanna (that was a fun time...they both got a little hyper off the fumes, and I don't just mean paint fumes. Someone must've given Johanna oranges). And the upstairs was painted all white, with a sky-blue ceiling full of white, fluffy clouds, and the painted message "See you there!" in reference to heaven. As well, there was a Twister board painted on the floor. It's interesting how many splinters you can manage to get all over your hands and feet when you play it that way. Oh yeah...and there was that one window upstairs that some teenagers liked to sneak out of so they could sit on the roof and be rebellious. (Not me, of course...I was a perfect child.)

The Coffee House, in my day, was usually open on Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday nights. There were many wonderful adults in the church who took turns supervising on these nights, and I am one of many grateful people who grew up and recognized what a thoughtful gift of time they all gave us. I hope they all know that they were, in some way, influential in keeping Frontier's teenage night-life alternative alive and healthy. It kept boredom (a common reason that many youth get into the party life) at bay, and brought a lot of non-churched people into the midst of people who could show them that life in Christ doesn't have to make you stuffy. Who knows how many seeds were planted there? I certainly remember hearing accounts of some deep conversations that went on as a result of friendships being forged there, and some supervising adults who took the time to answer the serious questions that some kids brought forth. It was a wonderful mission field.

The face of the Coffee House changed little-by-little as time went on. Sometimes we would paint messages and pictures on the windows according to the season. We also repainted the whole inside at one point, as crazy bright colours were falling out of style, and classy colours were coming in. The exterior went from red-and-white to green-and-white, but I can't remember at what point that happened. Also, sometime after my age group had graduated and left town, half of the living room was converted into a restaurant-style room, with tables and booths made out of wood. Once when I was visiting, I remember thinking that it was different, but that it looked really good. (And on a personal note, my husband and his groomsmen had some pictures taken there before our wedding, and it was a nice setting!)

My first impression when I think back on Coffee House memories can be summed up in one word: LOUD. There was almost always blaring music, sugar and caffeine-hyped teenagers shouting/flirting/roughhousing, and video games screaming from the games room. Sometimes they even had local bands put on concerts in there, like 95 Pounds of Stupid (later called Straight Edge) and the Andrew/Brooks/Brodie band (they had a name, but it's slipped my mind I guess). The second word that comes to mind is HAPPY. The supervisors were there to keep things from getting out-of-hand or inappropriate, but all of them seemed to have their patience bar set on "teenager". People were free to be rambunctious and somewhat crazy. After all, this was their place to party, and they were going to party! Again, I'm so thankful for the supervisors who must've often gone home with headaches because they recognized the need for teenagers to have a safe outlet. At one point in time, the Coffee House was actually called "My Place." That name never really stuck, but it was true all the same...anyone who went there was free to be themselves and have a good, loud time.

I understand that the popularity of the Coffee House has waned since those earlier years. However, I also understand that there is enough interest to look into purchasing another building in Frontier to carry on the vision. I hope and pray that this happens! Even if there is less of a crowd, it's still a crowd of individuals who will benefit from having a place to let loose without alcohol, and maybe to keep planting seeds in people's minds and hearts about the faith in Christ that backs up the Coffee House.

Some other random memories that just came to me: the night Zac set a record by drinking thirteen Barq's Root Beers...the times that Perry and Carrie were supervising, and we caught them making eyes at each other...the times that people rode down the stairs on sofa cushions and crashed into the cupboards at the bottom...the times that people turned off the bathroom light so that whoever was on the toilet was stranded in the dark...the time we had a karaoke night...so many good times! Long live the Coffee House!

My Biggest Dream

One of my biggest dreams has always been to be a full-time, stay-at-home mom.



I'm not even sure who reads my blog anymore...if you're someone who knows me, you understand what I mean. If you don't understand me, PLEASE don't assume that I think stay-at-home moms are superior to moms who have an outside career. I think there are too many people who are eager to draw battle lines between the two, as if there hasn't been proof that both approaches to life can produce very healthy, happy children (and mothers and fathers). Also, PLEASE don't assume that I'm selling myself short, or that I'm unambitious, or that I am somehow inferior to career-driven women.



With that out of the way, I'll continue on...

Everyone is born with a dream, and although most of us might claim to be open-minded and non-judgmental, I've received a few responses to my goal that display how some people really do think it's an inferior desire. It puts me on the defensive, but I'll try not to let my emotions get in the way of stating my case here (even though I hope those people understand what it's like to get laughed at for sharing THEIR heart with others...well, they probably have to some degree. People can be so ignorantly cruel to each other).

Anyway, NOW I'll continue on...

If being a stay-at-home mom is so unambitious, why don't more people want to do it? Surely there are enough lazy people in the world who wouldn't mind having a job where you sit in your house all day, watching soaps in baggy sweatpants, occasionally looking in on a peacefully napping baby...
WRONG!!
I'm not a mom yet, but I can't tell you how impressed I am with those people -- stay-at-home parents and day-care workers -- who manage these precious little people in their relatively helpless states, while still balancing household projects and any little room they may have for outside interests (if they're not too tired).

That reminds me...if being a stay-at-home mom is so easy to look down on, why don't more people look down on daycare workers? Is it because they make money at it? So...making money at something automatically gives it more worth in society's eyes, is that it? I guess so. I don't really need to get into how shallow and ignorant that is. Unfortunately, I think a lot of people think that way, whether or not they are willing to admit it in so many words.

Like any career goal, planning to be a stay-at-home mom involves preparation and sacrifice. It's not like you just step out of the work force and fall into a nice little cushion. For example, think of the finances. You will be relying on one income (most likely), so EVERYTHING you're making up until then must be planned out. Bryan and I are putting off the purchase of a house for a few reasons, and one of them is to save up at LEAST a 10% down payment (the higher the better), because we are planning on his income being the sole measure by which we mortgage a house. If we depended on both of our incomes, there is no way I could stay at home with the kids. And although it doesn't personally matter much to me and Bryan, we will be giving up the opportunity to buy a nicer house, brand-new vehicles, and go on regular overseas holidays so that we can afford for me to stay home once we have kids. And although this particular, unpaid career choice doesn't require any formal education, I plan on reading and learning as much as possible from other stay-at-home moms because I KNOW that what I'll be doing will be incredibly hard and stressful sometimes (although infinitely rewarding), and I don't want to be unprepared.

And please don't assume that I am afraid of outside work. I have a job that challenges me very much, but I also take great pride in it. When I am a stay-at-home mom, I will be battling a feeling of being cut off from the working world, the loss of relationships from where I'm working now, and probably a lot of insanity from multitasking for the majority of the day, as opposed to being surrounded by co-workers with whom I can have intelligent conversations, and from whom I can walk away if I need some quiet time. And I DO plan on finding part-time work once the kids are all in school, since I won't be needed in the home for most of those days. So no, I'm not planning to be a stay-at-home mom to run away from the working world. I know I'll miss that world in many ways. It's another small sacrifice to make.

Now that I've stated my defense against some stereotypes I've met and heard about, let me share a few positive aspects that drive my dream:

-It's always been in my heart, just like a lot of people always know they want to be a doctor, a singer, a teacher, or a world traveller someday. You might not know exactly how the dream got planted there, but it's been a part of you for as long as you can remember.

-I can't imagine anything more rewarding than spending the majority of your days with these little people whom God has entrusted to your care, and experiencing all of their firsts with them.

-Being a catalyst to the learning experiences of your own children (creating opportunities for creativity, problem-solving, relationship-building, and physical challenges) would be the focus of your days...imagine how amazing that would be!

-Writing is a hobby of mine. I would have endless material from people and experiences that I would feel passionate about preserving in words that might mean something to someone else one day.

-Most stay-at-home moms that I've talked to are very satisfied with their decision, and have eagerly encouraged me to follow through with my plan to do the same.

Something else I want to mention is how thankful I am to have a husband who encourages and supports this plan. When I first told him that this was what I wanted, he didn't immediately stress about the financial burden it would place on him...he was excited about it and we are partnering together to make sure it happens.

So there you have it, in a nutshell: my defense against those who look down on my dream, and my reasons for having it.

Trust

I just finished reading a fiction novel called "Why the Sky is Blue" by Susan Meissner. It's about a family whose mother conceived a child through rape, and how they gave the baby up for adoption -- an event told through the eyes of both the mother and her oldest daughter. This daughter, as an adult many years later, eventually comes to the realization that she only trusts God to a point when it comes to the people she loves -- a result of loving her unborn half-sister and then going through the pain of giving her up all those years ago. Anyway, the idea of trusting God "only to a point" really spoke to me.



I've never lost someone close to me in a way that scarred me emotionally, so it's not even a result of being hurt. But I know how easily it can happen...my grandpa died when he and my grandma were still young parents, leaving her with four kids to raise alone. (And the way my grandma still talks about my grandpa, you know that they were as in-love as anyone has ever been.) In the news you always hear about young couples who are tragically separated when one dies. Just today Bryan told me about a Saskatoon couple who were volunteering in Honduras, and the husband was shot and killed trying to defend his wife from muggers. There are car accidents, sudden health problems, random attacks, and any other number of ways in which a person can be killed. And I suppose my trust problems come from my focus on how much it would nearly destroy me if anything happened to Bryan.



To be bluntly honest, I keep rediscovering a wall between myself and God, and more often than not, lately it's related to my husband. I know God loves him, and me, and that He knows what's best. But I also know that sometimes He doesn't stop bad things from happening to His children, so I don't know if I will always have Bryan. No matter how much God loves him and me, I can't say with any certainty whether or not He will allow us to have a family and grow old together. This causes me to hold my heart at bay, clenching my fists around the gift of my husband and not allowing God to remain too close, just in case He will require me to give Bryan up in order to fulfill some greater purpose. I love God and don't doubt that He is good, but I so often feel like I can relate to the man who cried to Jesus, "I do believe...help my unbelief!"



But near the end of the novel, I read this paragraph and it spoke to me in a refreshing way. I thought I'd share it in case anyone else can benefit from it.



"I must be willing to meet with God alone...and see where the level of my trust starts and where it stops. If I am going to love people completely and at the heart of who they are, I am going to need to trust that God will watch over them in the way He sees as best. Because loving people will cost me, and I need to be able to meet that price with trust so that I can enjoy love's best moments and endure the worst."

I recently read another quote from a book. I can't remember exactly how it went, but the gist of it is this: the issue isn't that we mistrust that God knows what's best. The issue is that we can't foresee if God's best might be painful.

There are certainly no easy answers to the deep questions of life, but I think that we who trust God always have a beautiful hope: that this life on earth is temporary, and no matter what we endure, heaven will erase all of that pain and turmoil. So even when life is really good, and we're uncertain about whether or not it might someday become hard to even breathe, there is no reason to worry. In heaven, there will be no end to our joy, our peace, and our relationships with God and the other people who've arrived, and there will be no more worries about good-byes.